


For You? Anything

by dreadwolftakeme



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: PWP, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwolftakeme/pseuds/dreadwolftakeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Shameless smut (or it will be, when it's finished). Detective Inspector Cullen Rutherford of the Denerim Police Department finds out his boyfriends have a thing for men in uniform. He always hated it but he's happy to indulge the men he loves. </p><p>If it's not clear, this is a polyamory fic. Please, no flaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

I

 

Cullen had already attained the rank of detective inspector long before they’d met him, something Maxwell – and Dorian – rather lamented. Not that they weren’t proud of their boyfriend’s success; on the contrary, he was climbing the ranks of the Denerim PD like a spider monkey and they couldn’t be happier for him. However, there was one little aspect of Cullen’s policing career that they felt somewhat cheated out of.

“How come I’ve never seen a picture of you in uniform?” Max grumbled, his eyes scanning the wall of photos in their living area, as though hoping one might spontaneously appear.

“Because there are no pictures of me in uniform,” Cullen chuckled. “Not for your eyes, at least.”

The blonde was standing at the breakfast bar, adding a shot of hazelnut syrup to his morning coffee – taken to go, naturally, as the busy detective inspector had no time for frivolous things like breakfast. Maxwell frowned, walking around the sofa and over to his lover.

“I didn’t realise you were so shy,” he smirked, and he slipped his arms around Cullen’s waist, his fingers gliding over the fine cotton of his shirt. Cullen hummed with approval, leaning back into the touch.

“It’s less to do with being shy and more to do with giving you two ideas,” he said, sternly. The effect was rather muted, however, by the growl he gave as Max began to toy with his waistband.

“I assure you, we already have those ideas, love,” Max purred. “Come on. Indulge us.”

“Indulge us in what?” Dorian stepped out of the bedroom then, his hair styled and dressed to the pinnacle of stylish perfection. He too made a beeline for Cullen, and Maxwell shot him a mischievous grin as the pair of them hemmed in the blonde from both sides.

“Really?” Cullen sighed, in an attempt to sound exasperated that was fooling no-one. “I need to leave in two minutes, you know.”

“I could make you cum in your pants in two minutes and well you know it,” grinned Dorian, and he brushed his lips against the blonde’s in a feather light touch. Cullen groaned, setting his travel cup back down on the breakfast bar.

“What have I told you about turning me on before I have to go to work?” he breathed. “These pants hide nothing.”

Max laughed softly against Cullen’s neck, delighting in the way the other man shivered. “You don’t have to tell us,” he whispered, and he pressed a kiss to the blonde’s pulse. “Why do you think Dorian keeps shrinking them in the dryer?”

“What?!” Cullen suddenly jerked out of their reach and Dorian groaned.

“Maker’s breath, amatus, you are tactless sometimes,” he sighed.

“Says the one who’s been shrinking my trousers!” Cullen objected, hotly. “I thought I was gaining weight!”

Dorian chuckled unapologetically. “Did you not think to weigh yourself and check, my sweet?” he smirked.

“I… I don’t know how to use those confounded digital scales of yours,” muttered Cullen, flushing, and both Maxwell and Dorian laughed.

“Oh, our beautiful, blonde technophobe,” Max cooed. “Whatever are we going to do with you?”

“What indeed?” Dorian chimed in, seductively. Cullen, however, let out a huff of annoyance and he seized his coffee off the breakfast bar once more.

“What you can do is get out of my way,” he muttered. “I’m going to be late for work.”

He snatched up his bag, and his car keys from the bowl on the kitchen counter.

“You owe me a new pair of trousers,” he accused, glaring at Dorian.

“Only if you promise to let me choose them,” Dorian called after him, as he made for the front door. The blonde’s response of “Get fucked!” was met with gales of laughter from the two other men.

“Love you, Cully!” the chimed in unison. Cullen paused with his hand on the lock, glancing back across the open plan living area with a very begrudging smile.

“I love you too,” he sighed. “Morons,” he added, and he slipped out of the door with a half-hearted wave.

“I can’t believe you _told_ him I’ve been shrinking his trousers,” Dorian frowned, the instant he was gone. He swatted Max in the chest but the other man simply caught his wrist and brought it to his lips.

“I can’t believe he didn’t question it,” grinned Maxwell, and he bestowed a kiss upon the delicate skin at Dorian’s wrist. “I mean, _you_ knowing how to use the dryer! That’s hardly credible!”

Dorian scowled and he aimed another slap Max’s way. Maxwell dodged it, laughing, and he pulled his boyfriend into his arms.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he whispered, dragging his lips up the column of Dorian’s throat. The Tevinter shuddered and his elegant, golden fingers twined in the length of Max’s hair.

“You,” he smirked. “On that counter. Right now.”

“Nuh uh,” Max grinned. “You know the rules. No fucking ‘til he gets home.”

“Then why are you teasing me, you insufferable man?” Dorian whined. He tilted his head back, giving Maxwell better access to the taught lines of his neck. Never one to pass up such a tempting offer, Max bit down playfully on Dorian’s flesh, letting his teeth scrape at the sensitive skin. Dorian gasped and his fingers tightened their grip on Max’s untamed locks.

“Seems like you’re asking for it, to me,” said Max, with a feral smile. He caressed the abused flesh with the point of his tongue. A low, husky groan rumbled in Dorian’s throat and the mage bucked up against Maxwell’s hips.

“Maker’s breath!” he whimpered. “Amatus, please, you’re killing me here.”

Max laughed, rich and dark. “Perhaps we can bend the rules, just this once,” he murmured. “No penetration, though,” he added, and he rolled his hips pointedly against Dorian’s, the heavy fabric of their jeans rubbing in all the right places. Dorian hissed.

“As you wish,” he gasped. “Now hurry; I have a conference call in half an hour and I’d rather not do it with your lips around my cock.”

“Pity,” Max smirked. “I’d love to see what Mae has to say about that.”


	2. Part Two

II

 

 

Cullen plucked nervously at the collar of his borrowed shirt, the key in his hand feeling somehow weightier than usual. His boyfriends had never seen him in uniform before and with good reason. Cullen had never been comfortable in police clothing. It attracted too much attention, attention he didn’t know how to deal with. He’d never thought of himself as attractive and, at the time, he’d been certain the women (and men) fawning over him were merely toying with him. Of course, with Max and Dorian it was completely different. He knew they loved him, knew they wanted him. Still, he couldn’t help his apprehension.

Deciding that it was now or never, Cullen let himself in, closing the door quietly behind him. He could hear the television in the living area and he imagined his boyfriends would be curled up together on the sofa by now, Dorian likely into his second glass of wine. He left his bag in the hallway and made his way slowly across the large, open room.

Just as he’d suspected, Dorian and Max were relaxing on the sofa. Dorian was leaning back against Max’s chest, a glass of something deep and red resting casually in one hand. Max, meanwhile, was pressing absent kisses to the mage’s now rumpled hair. He had one arm slung over the back of the couch and the other draped over Dorian’s right shoulder. He was the first to glance up and, Cullen couldn’t deny, his expression of astonishment was incredibly satisfying.

“Maker’s fucking balls,” he breathed, and his shock melted into an unmistakably lewd smile. Dorian sat up and twisted around where he sat. At once, his lips curved into a wicked grin.

“Cullen!” he exclaimed, delightedly. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Maker, that uniform fits you like a second skin.”

The blonde flushed with pleasure. He watched as Dorian slid of the sofa, setting his wine glass down on the coffee table before slinking towards him with the air of a panther stalking its prey. The sudden want in his grey eyes certainly made Cullen feel hunted – in the best possible way.

“Do you know, it’s rather fortunate that you’re here, Officer Rutherford,” the Tevinter went on, and he was outright circling Cullen now. “I’m afraid my boyfriend and I have been very,  _very_ bad. I think you might have to arrest us _.”_

Cullen frowned but he cottoned on quickly at Dorian’s silently encouraging expression.

“Oh! Right, yes,” he mumbled, clearing his throat. “I see. And on what charges?”

Dorian smirked with delight but he quickly covered it, biting his lip in a passable affectation of guilt. “I’m afraid we might have broken the rules,” he whispered.

“We were so excited after you left this morning that we might have done something  _naughty_ ,” Max added from the couch, not even bothering to hide his delight.

“Ah.” Cullen realised then what they meant.  _The rules_. He’d told them before that there was really no need for them; he didn’t mind what his boyfriends got up to when he wasn’t around. They more than made up for it when he was. However, the pair had insisted, perhaps out of some misplaced guilt, perhaps simply to try and make him feel secure; he couldn’t say for certain. He’d have to talk to them about it again later. For now, though, they clearly had something in mind.

“Well, that’s just not acceptable, is it?” he said, in his sternest voice. “What am I going to do with you two miscreants? I should have you thrown in the cells, cut your… basic rations… oh Maker, you know I’m no good at this,” he groaned, feeling his cheeks flame as both his lovers stared at him in polite bewilderment. He threw his hands up over his face to conceal his embarrassment. Dorian chuckled somewhere behind him and Cullen felt his hot body press up against his back.

“We wouldn’t have you any other way,” he whispered, and he prised Cullen’s hands away from his face. The blonde twisted his head, looking over his shoulder at the other man. Dorian’s eyes never failed to make his heart flutter in his chest, especially not when he was gazing down at him like that, his pupils blown large and dark with sheer want. He felt the heat of that gaze shift to his lips and Cullen was only happy to indulge. Reaching up behind him, he cupped the back of Dorian’s head and leaned in to kiss him. Dorian hummed with pleasure and his arms twined around Cullen’s chest, fingers clawing gently at the fabric of his uniform.

“You have no idea what seeing you in this does to me,” he whispered, his lips a scant inch away from Cullen’s.

“I might have an inkling, actually,” the blonde smirked and he pushed back against Dorian, feeling the growing hardness rub against his backside. Dorian moaned, a pretty, calculated sound that had precisely its intended effect. Cullen could feel the desire stirring in his own belly. He turned in the mage’s embrace, throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him eagerly.

“Oh, Maker yes,” Maxwell groaned from the sofa. “You two are so fucking hot. Get your sweet asses over here.”

Dorian pulled away slowly, purposefully, his sinful, plump lips curling in a smile beneath that moustache.

“Well, you heard the man,” he purred. “Get that perfect posterior onto that couch right now.” And he swatted Cullen lightly on the arse. The blonde blushed and laughed. He strode over to where Max was sitting, making no move hide the arousal tenting his ripped and faded jeans. Maxwell grinned and he patted the space beside him in invitation.

“We’ve been thinking about you all day,” the rogue admitted, as Cullen dropped onto the sofa next to him. “And then you come home looking like this? You’re a merciless man, Cullen Rutherford.”

Dorian sank elegantly down on Cullen’s other side and, at once, his boyfriends were upon him, pale and golden hands gliding across the expanse of his torso.

“Be careful,” he warned them. “This isn’t mine - I borrowed it off Jim on the desk. He’ll be wanting it back in one piece.”

“Thought it seemed a little tight,” Max smirked and his hand trailed down Cullen’s chest, over his middle to grasp at his crotch. The blonde threw back his head, groaning and jerking up into the touch.

“I’m surprised your colleague was so forthcoming,” added Dorian. “He must have known what you were going to use it for.” His clever fingers teased Cullen’s nipples through the cotton of his shirt, drawing lazy circles around them and then pinching gently. Cullen whimpered.

“Maker!” he gasped. “How… how are we doing this, tonight?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” murmured Max, making a show of sounding thoughtful. “Dorian? Fuck or be fucked?”

“I think I’d rather  _be_  fucked, this evening,” the mage whispered. “I want to feel this gorgeous man inside me. Is that alright with you?”

“You know I’m good either way,” Max chuckled, and he pressed his lips to Cullen’s neck then, licking and nipping as he was so wont to do. “How about you, Cully? You good with being the filling in this little sandwich?”

Cullen moaned. “Yes,” he breathed. “Maker, yes.”

“Delightful,” smirked Dorian, and Cullen felt the Tevinter retreating, bemoaned the loss of stimulation. “Hush, amatus,” he laughed, huskily. “I shall be right back. We’re going to need some oil before we get too carried away.”

 


	3. Part Three

 III

 

 

The ornate Orlesian rug in their living area was an antique, a housewarming present from Maxwell’s wealthy father. It was easily the most expensive thing that they owned, aside from perhaps the contents of Dorian’s wardrobe - the things he’d managed to smuggle away from home before his own father had cut him off. The Tevinter could only imagine the look on Bann Trevelyan’s face if he saw how his heirloom was currently being used.

The coffee table had been pushed hastily aside and Cullen was kneeling in the middle of the rug, Maxwell behind him and Dorian straddling his lap. The mage was kissing Cullen greedily, deploying every little trick in his arsenal so as to make the blonde squirm. It seemed to be working. Cullen groaned when Dorian nipped at his lip then soothed the spot with a gentle caress of his tongue.

“Damn it, Dorian,” he gasped, pulling back from the voracious ‘Vint’s assault. “It’s not fair for you to be able to kiss like that!”

Cullen’s hands, currently down the back of Dorian’s jeans, squeezed hard, pressing their hips together. The feel of the blonde’s hardness against his own, the scrape of nails on Dorian’s arse, made him groan with delight.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m a bad man. Punish me, Officer.”

Behind Cullen, Maxwell chuckled, his green eyes flashing with amusement.

“You’re a criminal, alright,” he grinned. “You should be punished just for that.”

“Quiet you,” murmured Dorian, though he flashed the rogue a brief smile. “We’re having a moment here.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Max purred. He caught Dorian’s eye and the Tevinter saw him mouth the words _clothes_ and _off_ before he returned his attentions to Cullen’s neck. Dorian was only too happy to oblige.

“As good as this uniform looks on you, amatus,” he praised, as his fingers began to work the buttons on Cullen’s shirt, “I think you would look even lovelier out of it.”

Cullen whimpered at the lazy, sensual way Max was kissing his throat. His hips jerked up, clothed erection rubbing against Dorian’s and making both of them gasp.

“Venhedis,” the mage cursed, and he tugged at Cullen’s buttons all the more quickly. “I’ve been thinking about this too long to be patient with you tonight.”

“Don’t want your patience,” Cullen uttered, and his back arched again at a savage nip of Max’s teeth. The friction was delicious; Dorian found himself rocking back.

When finally Cullen’s shirt was open, the mage wasted no time in pushing it off the blonde’s broad, muscular shoulders. Maker, the sight of Cullen bare-chested never failed to render him speechless. The man was so sinfully well-built, bulkier than either Dorian or Max. Having such a powerful man hovering over him – or, even better, squirming under him - always came with a heady rush of thrill.

“Look at him,” Dorian heard Max stage-whisper, bringing him back to his senses. “He can’t keep his eyes off you. That’s how fucking hot you look in that uniform.”

Dorian smirked. “It’s true, amatus,” he affirmed. “You do look delicious. I wonder, will you indulge me in something?” He leaned in close, the tip of his nose touching Cullen’s, their lips barely an inch apart.

“What?” the blonde breathed. Dorian moved right in, brushing their lips together but not quite kissing him and grinning when he whined.

“Keep that hat on when you’re fucking me,” he commanded and he captured Cullen’s lips in a fiery kiss, swallowing the blonde’s moan of mounting frustration.  

“For you?” Cullen gasped, when Dorian wrenched himself away – albeit with some difficulty. “Anything.”

Even when playing cop, Cullen was infallibly sweet. In any other man, Dorian might have found his sentiment cloying but, Maker, if it didn’t have him aching for him. Impatient now, his hands dropped to Cullen’s waist band and he popped open the buttons. What he discovered made his cock throb eagerly in his pants.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he said, in an awed whisper. He stared up at the blonde and the way that scarred corner of Cullen’s lip curled in a rare smirk of self-satisfaction… “You had every intention of tonight going like this, didn’t you?” Dorian accused. Cullen laughed breathlessly.

“I’m not as innocent as you two like to think,” he grinned. His mirth fast became a moan, however, as Dorian slipped a questing hand into the blonde’s trousers. Olive-skinned fingers curled around Cullen’s shaft and he gasped, his head falling back onto Max’s shoulder. “Dorian,” he groaned. “Maker, yes…”

The Tevinter smiled wickedly to himself. The earnest little sounds Cullen made were just too gorgeous for words. He didn’t play games, didn’t censor himself in any way; it was so deliciously refreshing. Even Maxwell, who was an open book compared the men he’d known back home, held some things back. Not Cullen, though. Dorian enjoyed it immensely, loved to watch every flitter of adoration and passion that crossed the man’s face. Like now: the way Cullen’s plump bottom lip was quivering with every stroke of Dorian’s hand. The mage swiped a thumb over the sensitive head of Cullen’s cock, grinning when the blonde cursed.

“Fuck!” he hissed. “Dorian.”

His name was like a prayer on Cullen’s lips and, Maker, it did things to Dorian to hear it. Apparently it did things to Max too, if the ravenous gleam in the Marcher’s eyes was any indication. He appeared over Cullen’s shoulder, gazing down the blonde’s body to where Dorian was fondling his cock.

“Suck it,” Max demanded, breathlessly. “Go on, Dorian; make him writhe.”

Cullen whined, half protest, half eager encouragement. Dorian was only too happy to oblige the request. Smirking, he lay on his belly, gripping Cullen’s thighs, and lowered his head over the other man’s length. He gave it an experimental lick, root to tip, chuckling when he heard Cullen hiss through his teeth. Then, hollowing his cheeks, he took him to the back of his throat. The strangled sound Cullen made, the bitten off curse that followed, had Dorian moaning in kind. The Tevinter rutted lazily against the floor, the friction just enough to feel pleasurable.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Max whispered. “Oh, you should see yourself. You were born to suck cock, love.”

Dorian laughed, eliciting a garbled wail from the blonde he was servicing, and pulled away for the briefest of moments.

“Don’t let my father ever hear you say that,” he warned, playfully. “He might have an aneurysm.”

“Promises, promises,” muttered Max. Dorian shook his head, grinning before returning to his task. He could hear the soft, wet sounds and breathy moans of kissing above him and the mental image spurred him on.

“Maker’s breath, Dorian,” whimpered Cullen. “I can’t… You have to stop… If I’ve any hope of surviving both of you tonight, I beg you, stop.”

Dorian smirked around the dick in his mouth but he did as he’d been asked, pulling away to sit back on his haunches. The sight of Cullen kneeling half-dressed on the rug, panting, his cock glistening wet from Dorian’s attentions, had the mage licking his lips.

“I think we should lose the rest of those clothes, now,” he purred. Maxwell nodded his agreement and the pair of them pulled their boyfriend to his feet. They were quick to divest him of his trousers, tossing them over the back of the sofa. Then they turned to their own attire. It was no striptease – no playful allure or seductive show. They were simply in the way and all three of them had little patience left for barriers, it seemed.

“On your knees,” Cullen commanded, once Dorian had fully disrobed. The mage felt a little tremor of excitement at the authoritative tone. Maker, if they could get him to do that consistently in the bedroom, what fun they could have! For the moment, though, he was happy to take what he could get, the thought of what was to come making him painfully hard. He dropped to the rug and arranged himself artfully on his knees and elbows, arse thrust shamelessly up into the air. Fluttering his lashes, he flashed a coquettish look over his shoulder at Cullen, who appeared as though he might have an aneurysm himself.

“Is this to your satisfaction, Officer?” he smirked. Cullen bit his lip, nodding, and he was behind Dorian in a flash. The mage barely had time to gasp before he felt Cullen’s tongue flicker over his entrance. He cursed, his back bowing and his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the woollen pile.

“You talk too much,” muttered Cullen, and he sunk his teeth into the golden flesh of Dorian’s backside. Dorian howled.

“Kaffas, Cullen!” he cried. “Again!”

What he got, however, was a sharp slap over the very same spot that had just been bitten. The Tevinter hissed and tried to pretend that the stinging of his arse wasn’t what was making him drip onto the expensive carpet.

“I don’t recall you being in charge, here,” Cullen growled. However, he was clearly losing his patience for the situation. Dorian heard him mumble something to Max, heard the distinct sound of a bottle being opened. Then, a moment later, an oiled finger slipped between his cheeks, tracing the tight ring of muscle. Dorian moaned.

“Cullen, please,” he panted, pushing back against the would-be intrusion. He was aching now: he needed something, anything. The blonde gave an uncharacteristically dark chuckle and he pressed a feather-light kiss to the spot he’d just bitten.

“You know I can’t resist it when you beg,” he murmured, voice rich with amusement. Then that heavenly digit was breaching Dorian, making him moan like a slattern and arch his back. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but it was an excellent start and Dorian thrust back against it, taking it as deep as he could. “Maker, you’re a slut for ass play, aren’t you?” Cullen praised, as he worked him carefully open. “I’ve barely touched you.”

In the heat of the moment, Dorian didn’t care how needy he sounded. “More,” he entreated. “You know how much I can take, Cullen, don’t get soft on me now.”

Behind them both, Max sniggered. “Trust me, from where I’m standing, no-one’s going soft any time soon,” the rogue laughed. “Though I might be able to urge dear Cully along for you…”

“Oh?” Cullen sounded defiant. “And what exactly do you plan to do that wi- FUCK!”

The finger inside Dorian jerked, so close to his prostate and yet not close enough. He’d have been more frustrated if it weren’t for the delicious sounds coming from the blonde behind him. Dorian didn’t need to look around to know that Max was preparing him too.

“What was that you said about being a slut for ass play?” the Marcher asked, slyly. “Shit, Cullen, look at you; you fucking love it.”   

Cullen seemed to regain a little of his control then and Dorian felt a second finger join the first inside him, thrusting and stretching. He whined, biting his lip and pushing right back.

“Cullen,” he whispered. “Please, amatus, you’re so close, just a little more.”

Cullen grunted, no doubt a result of whatever torments Max was unleashing upon him. He did, however, comply and Dorian shouted to the ceiling at the pleasure that crashed over him.

“Venhedis!” he hissed. “That’s so good! Ah, Maxwell, hurry up, I want him in me!”

“Hush, love,” Max called back, though his voice was notably strained. “It’ll be worth it, you know it will.”

Patience had never been Dorian’s strong point. Growing up in Tevinter, haste was often a necessity; it was a rare thing for him to get to take his time with a lover. And Maker, did these two like to take their time. Dorian breathed through his nose, trying not to whimper and whine like an inexperienced whelp. Yet Cullen knew how to undo him and he couldn’t help rocking back onto every thrust of those clever fingers, moaning and flexing. When the detective finally added a third to the mix, he actually wailed.

“He’s so _loud_ ,” Maxwell praised. “Fuck, Dorian, I love it when you’re noisy for us.”

Loud was new to him too but Dorian found he rather liked that – just as he liked hearing his boyfriends shouting and moaning in turn.

“I aim to please,” the mage panted. “Now if you could kindly extend me the same courtesy?”

Cullen gave a laugh that was more of a gasp and he withdrew his fingers from the heat of Dorian’s body. Dorian bemoaned the loss but he didn’t have long to wait before the blunt head of Cullen’s oiled cock was pressing against his entrance. The blonde pushed in in one slow, slick motion. Dorian panted, his eyes rolling back and his short nails plucking at the rug beneath him.

“Maker’s breath, Dorian,” Cullen whispered, shakily. “You feel so fucking good.”

The Tevinter rather wanted to make some cutting response but his brain didn’t want to co-operate. Instead, he twisted to glance over his shoulder and what he saw made him whimper like a pup. Cullen’s eyes were closed, his expression a flushed mask of ecstasy thanks to Dorian’s ass and Max’s conveniently long fingers. That he was still wearing that that hat… fuck, it turned Dorian on far more than it should have done. He longed to reach beneath his body and bring himself a little relief. However, he wasn’t sure one hand could manage to support him.

“You ready?” Maxwell asked, from where he kneeled behind Cullen. “Shit, you feel ready.”

Cullen nodded hastily. His amber eyes snapped open and suddenly he was leaning over Dorian, draping himself over the mage’s back. Just the shift in angle felt so sinfully good and Dorian allowed himself to groan. Maker, he wanted the man to move so badly he was trembling. Yet he knew what was coming, knew it was worth the wait. Sure enough, Cullen’s grip on Dorian’s waist suddenly tightened and the blonde keened as Maxwell filled him.

“Fuck,” he whimpered. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Dorian had been in Cullen’s place plenty of times before – they all had. He knew how intense it felt, how consuming. The blonde took a moment to adjust and Dorian bit his lip to keep himself from thrusting impatiently backwards.

“Ok,” he gasped, after what felt like an eternity. “Shit… you can move now.”

Max didn’t need telling twice. Dorian heard the ragged sound Cullen made when Maxwell pulled back then the pair of them cried out in unison when he slammed back in. Dorian felt the force of it in his own body.

“Fuck!” he hissed, even as Cullen whined with pleasure by his ear. Maxwell pulled back then thrust again and, this time, the blonde moved with him. It was blissful. The slight burn of the rug on his bare knees was nothing compared to the sheer sensation that had taken up residence in every cell of his body. It didn’t take them long to find their rhythm and soon Dorian was face down in the rug, a sobbing, mewling wreck. Max was taking no prisoners; the incoherent sounds Cullen was making by his ears were proof of that. It had to be the sexiest thing the mage had ever heard and it was driving him to distraction. Indeed, Dorian’s cock was so painfully hard against his stomach that, when the blonde reached around him to grip it, he actually babbled his thanks to the Maker.

“You’re amazing,” was Cullen’s hoarse whisper against Dorian’s neck. “Fuck, you two… I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”

His hand on Dorian was jerky and arrhythmic but it didn’t matter. It was perfect; the whole thing was perfect. So good. Too good. Fuck, he couldn’t last like this.

“Fasta vass,” he gasped. “You’d both better be close…”

“Fuck yes!” Maxwell snarled from behind. “Come on Cullen, I can feel you.”

There was the slightest shift in their already frenetic tempo. Whatever Maxwell had done, it had to have been good, if the broken cries from the blonde were anything to go by. The motions of his hips became erratic. The hand around Dorian’s cock flexed and then, with a sound just shy of a wail, Cullen came. Searing heat filled Dorian. He groaned, though it was lost to the sounds of Cullen’s climax. The hand on his cock grew still and Dorian pushed it gently aside. He was almost there, so close he was trembling. He wrapped his own fingers around his shaft instead, relying on instinctive familiarity to finish the job. To his surprise, it was the tender press of lips to his sweat-soaked skin that truly did him in. A barely there touch, a shattered voice pouring words of love and admiration into his ear. Dorian sobbed and he came apart right then, spilling himself onto Bann Trevelyan’s precious heirloom.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he stayed like that; ass in the air, Cullen’s warm spend leaking down his thighs. The blonde was like a firebrand on his back, scorching hot and sticky with perspiration. Heavy too, Dorian noted vaguely, but he could scarcely summon the will to care. He only moved when Cullen did, lifting himself off and out of Dorian with a shuddering gasp.

“Maker’s breath,” he laughed, breathlessly. “That was… wow. If I’d had known borrowing a uniform would have ended up like this, I’d have done it sooner.”

Groaning, Dorian rolled over. His muscles screamed in protest and he _throbbed_ but, Maker, was it satisfying. Cullen was lying on an odd angle beside him, flushed all over – a beautiful, post-coital mess. Beyond him, Maxwell looked like he was already asleep. Dorian hadn’t heard him finish but the slickness he spied between Cullen’s legs was proof that he had.

“Well, the rug’s trashed,” the mage panted, brightly. “Your father will be delighted.”

Maxwell snickered and turned his head lazily towards Dorian. “I’ll send him the dry-cleaning bill,” he grinned. “Should be good for a laugh.” He hefted himself onto his side and Dorian watching him smirking down at Cullen with mischief in his eyes.

“So,” he chuckled. “You going to tell ‘Jim on the desk’ all about this when you give him his uniform back?”

“Maker, no,” the blonde groaned. “I’ll have it cleaned, send it back and tell him it was for a party. He really doesn’t need to know any more.”

“Jim,” Dorian mused aloud, drumming his fingers on his chin. “Is he the fair one, follows you around like a little lost puppy?”

Maxwell laughed raucously at that. “Ohhhhh, _that_ Jim!” he exclaimed, gleefully. “In that case, I think he definitely needs to know about this. He’ll probably have it framed, get you to sign it so he can hang it up in his little Cullen shrine.”

The rogue fell about laughing. Even Dorian couldn’t help a chuckle behind his hands. The blonde simply groaned, shaking his head.

“Maker, I hate you sometimes,” Cullen grumbled, blushing furiously.


End file.
